A Few Moments
Sirius knew his family was strange, and more than a little fucked up. He also knew he himself, was not exempt from that designation. Not even before Azkaban had Sirius been good at communicating, or dealing with emotion, or any of the other strange ‘adult skills’ Remus liked to insist on.
And damn him, Sirius really wanted to try.
He was so tired of running. He’d done it for years, from his family, from his guilt, from the law, it didn’t matter. He was practically an old man now, his metaphorical knees couldn’t take it.
Hence, Draco.
Sirius didn’t know why, but he was a little fixated. Maybe it was because Draco and Regulus (Merlin, didn’t it hurt to say his name) had the same eyes, sharp and cruel. Maybe it was because Draoc had chosen to run into his problems instead of away from them.
It just felt like Draco was the pinnacle of all the things Sirius had left, when he ran away. Like if he could be civil with Draco, it meant hadn’t ruined it all.
Sirius was the one who did the leaving. He didn’t get left.
But when he did, he found he really didn’t like it. Remus, of course, thought it was hilarious it bothered Sirius so much. Something about karma, but Remus was quite rude, if you let him be, so he could suck it.
All of this ran through Sirius’ mind, when he walked into the kitchen on a random Tuesday afternoon, to find Draco sitting at the table next to Kreature, sipping something from a mug.
And look, he didn’t have the most ‘emotional intelligence’ (See Moony? He knew the vocab) but he’d learned quite a few things in Azkaban. Sirius knew what it looked like when someone separated from themself.
Draco looked lighter, but not any happier. More like he was a piece of silk web, practically intangible, not even there. His blank grey eyes were focused on the wall, mechanically lifting the mug to his lips, though Sirius doubted he was actually drinking anything.
He inched into the room, pouring a glass of pumpkin juice from the ice box, almost spilling it everywhere when Draco spoke.
“Where is he?”
Sirius blinked, he wouldn’t pretend to misunderstand the question, but the blankness behind Draco’s voice was unnerving, “They’re in Italy, wrapping up some unfinished business, whatever that means.”
Draco nodded, looking unperturbed by his fiancés absence.
“I could floo them, if you’d-” Sirius began.
“No.” Draco cut in firmly, finally looking up at his cousin, “No, I’m only here for a moment.” His eyes cut sideways to Kreature, who got up from the table and walked away without saying anything.
It wasn’t convincing. Draco’s voice was broken, and he sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as Sirius.
“Alright.” Sirius nodded, tapping his fingers against the edge of the counter.
He sat in the silence for a few moments, eyes darting around as it stretched, before eventually, he had to speak again, “Harry’s here.”
Draco closed his eyes, though he still had no expression, “I’d prefer if you left him wherever he is.”
“Ok.” Sirius agreed.
He’d dealt with screaming, physical violence, magical outbursts, curses, and knives, but Sirius couldn’t remember ever having a conversation with a family member that was awkward.
It was awful. He preferred the knives.
What would Remus tell him to do?
“I’m . . .sorry?” Sirius tried.
Draco opened his eyes, face finally breaking from its cold mask, “Was that a question?”
“No?”
Draco looked at him, face slowly thawing, being replaced instead by confusion.
“No.” Sirius coughed, “No, not a question.” Why did he feel on trial? He was an adult Merlin-damn it.
Draco sighed, “Well then, what are you sorry for?”
“What do you mean, ‘what are you sorry for?” Sirius said incredulously, “We were both there.”
“I’m aware.” Draco sneered, confusion giving way to annoyance, “But I’m afraid some of us have bigger issues than family infighting, and don’t exactly keep a running tally. Merlin knows how long it would get.”
Sirius felt the same irritation rise in him, and forcefully pushed it down, he wasn’t here to argue this time, no matter how easy it would be, “Fine. I’m sorry for pushing you about Moody’s plan.”
This seemed to actually give Draco pause. His face faltered, anger giving way to an open confusion that made him look less like the imposing Lord of two families, and more like a teenager.
“It was fucked up.” Sirius concluded, because it was. People thought he’d been responsible for the death of his family for years. He hadn’t even been guilty, but it still hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced.
Draco stayed silent, simply looking at Sirius for a few moments before replying, “Yes, it certainly wasn’t the most convincing argument to help your lot.”
“You-” Sirius paused, looking away, “You didn’t deserve that.”
At this Draco seemed to come back to himself fully, sneering at Sirius, “How would you know what I deserve?”
He stood from the table, pushing away from Sirius and his still-full drink, “Maybe I do deserve it. Maybe I deserve worse.”
Sirius recognized himself in every piece of Draco’s self loathing. It was practically inherited, in their family, that all consuming hate. The certainty that you’ve made all the wrong decisions at all the wrong times.
He didn’t know what to say. Sirius had thought all of that and worse. He’d never figured out how to refute it.
Even if he wanted to, Draco would never listen to him.
“Even so,” Sirius replied, “We’ve all done things we regret. I once ate a possum.”
Draco was back to confusion, “Raw?”
“Fur and all.” Sirius confirmed.
Draco blinked, “Somehow, I feel that’s more shameful than anything I’ve done.”
Sirius smiled, “I’m inclined to agree.”
They lapsed back into silence, this time much more comfortable. Draco sat back down, actually taking a sip of the drink in front of him.
“Have you heard from Dumbledore recently?” Sirius asked, not because he particularly wanted to see the old headmaster, but because he hadn’t been to Grimmauld since Draco had come back.
Draco’s face twisted into obvious disgust, “No, and I don’t particularly regret it.”
Sirius snorted, “You and I both.”
“I would have expected you to be one of his groupies,” Draco commented, raising an eyebrow.
He didn’t like it, but Sirius couldn’t exactly deny he’d been an avid fan of Dumbledpre until Harry came around. He would probably have polished the man's boots.
But then he tried to deny Sirius’ plea to have Harry live with them, when he knew what kind of place the Dursley’s was. His mother made sure he’d never forget what growing up like that did to you.
And Dumbledore wanted to keep Harry there.
He’d never been so angry in his life.
Sirius didn’t give a single fuck about the ‘blood-tie’ bullshit Dumbledore tried to push. There were no better warded houses than Black ones, aside from maybe the Malfoy’s, there was no good reason Harry should be forced to live as he had, not with Remus and Sirius right there.
The part that enraged him the most, was that it seemed to be Remus and Sirius specifically that Dumbledore opposed. The bastard had even suggested Harry live with the Weasleys, when Sirius made it obvious he wouldn’t accept the current arrangement.
The Weasleys.
Sirius didn’t have the issue Draco and the rest of their families seemed to have, but he did have personal issues with Molly, no matter how much she’d done for the order. He could never trust her after all she had said, after how hard she tried to keep Harry out of the loop.
Harry had a family. Family that knew what James and Lily would have wanted. And he hated that Molly didn’t see that. She meant well, yes, but Harry wasn’t her son, she had no right to make decisions for him.
“Dumbledore and I don’t always see eye to eye.” Sirius said finally.
“That’s reassuring,” Draco approved, “Someone in this house should have some sense.”